Don't Move
by LadyRiona
Summary: It's seven years after Capricorn's death and Dustfinger has yet to come to terms with never returning home. When Meggie finds him lost in thought, holding a secret of her own, what will these two share? Full summ inside. Rated M for a reason.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything from _Inkheart_, but I do own this plot. In no way am I affiliated with the lovely author of the original story, and receive no compensation for writing this other than your lovely reviews.**

**Author's Note: So this is an AR story. The majority of the events of the first book and movie have happened, except Mo never read Dustfinger back into the story like in the movie, and Dustfinger and Farid never find Orpheus as in Inkspell. It's now seven years later.**

**Pairing: Dustfinger/Meggie  
>Rating: M<br>Summary: It's seven years after the death of Capricorn, and Dustfinger has never come to terms with not being able to return to his home. He is lost in thoughts surrounding those he loves when Meggie returns home early from university. Dustfinger can tell she has a secret she won't quite say yet. How much will these two share with each other?**

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><p>There was a storm brewing. Dark clouds would block out the sun, wind would whip the trees, and fat raindrops would pelt the windows. There was always the chance that there would be strikes of lightning and rolls of thunder. At least, that was according to the weather channel playing in the background. Strange as it was, the individuals who gave the forecast always seemed excited in general, but seemed to have an extra air of exhilaration as they spoke of the coming storms. Perhaps it was the break of the normal, sunny weather of southern Italy that made them so enthusiastic, the chance something bad might happen in a storm.<p>

Whatever it was, Dustfinger couldn't fathom. He could remember, even if only vaguely, the grim tales of the fortune tellers and seers of his world. They had to be dour sounding for their customers to take them seriously, Dustfinger knew, but there always seemed to be an added note of foreboding when they spoke of a coming storm. Perhaps because storms were a little more serious in his world; the buildings were not as protective against the elements as in this one, and there were fewer shelters there as well. From experience, Dustfinger knew there was typically a store on every corner in a city in which to seek refuge. Even in the country, it wasn't difficult to sneak into a barn for the night.

There was safety in this world, a lack of adventure. Dustfinger missed the risks of his home: avoiding the predators in the Wayless Wood; outsmarting highwaymen who decided that a poor Strolling Player was worth their trouble; even avoiding the Prince's guards from time to time had an impression of danger.

Of course, Dustfinger had run into his fair share of trouble here: policemen didn't often take well to strange men breathing fire on a street corner; this he had found out early in his time here. Just like at home, if his tricks seemed to steal the attention of too many customers in a market, the shop owners would shoo him away even at the risk of being burned by his torches. In some areas he'd discovered in his travels, there were predators that even his fire couldn't discourage.

Then there had been that run in with Capricorn seven years ago.

Reluctantly, Dustfinger admitted to himself that this fast-paced world did have some of the danger he had once been accustomed too. It was much too easy, though, to avoid it all. If one had been born into the right life, tragedy was a rarity. It wasn't every day that one would see thieves and brigands tormenting the poor in town, at least not locally. The news tellers made quite a fuss over something that, in his world, was commonplace.

Perhaps, he unwillingly allowed himself to think again, it was just his home he was still missing, and everything and everyone in it.

Sixteen years was a long time to be gone from a place, to be absent in the lives of his friends and family. Even now, he could recall the feeling of heartbreak he'd experienced when the realization set in that he would never again see his family. He remembered telling himself, over and over, to just forget them; forgetting them would be so much easier than trying to remember all their faces, much less painless than tormenting himself with the memories of people he would never see again. Of course, it had been much easier said than done.

There had been many times he'd lain awake in the midst of the heartbreak clawing at his chest. Silent tears had often escaped him, silent weeping for the ones he had lost. Unbidden, the faces of those he loved would surface in his memory: Roxane, Brianna, Rosanna, The Black Prince, and other members of the Motley Folk. They would always steal his breath, piercing his heart, leaving him gasping in the wake of their memories.

Over time, forgetting them had become easier. He could no longer recall his lover's face with perfect clarity; Roxane's beauty was blurred around the edges, as if she had only been a dream. It did sting to know that even she, the woman who had held his heart, was slipping away from him as time wore on and the pace of this world carried him further away from his home. The Black Prince, once his best friend, had become a faceless figure in his mind, along with his daughters and everyone else he had known.

Despite the time spent away, and how he had adapted to this world, homesickness still plagued him regularly. He still held a sliver of hope that, one day, he could return, that his home would welcome him back with open arms, as would everyone else.

And it wasn't just the people he missed! The fairies, the woods, the way fire would speak to him! Ah, yes. How he longed to hear the whisper of flames again, to feel it caress his skin like a lover. Here, fire was dumb, silent; it didn't understand him as he tried to speak to it. It obeyed him only as a beaten dog would obey its abusive master. Fire in his home obeyed him because he knew its language, because it listened to him as he murmured to it.

It was a long time since Dustfinger had allowed himself these thoughts, to dwell on his home. It was difficult to recall much of that world, but some things never left him. He could still remember the way he felt when Roxane would gaze at him with love in her eyes; to remember that caused only a shadow of the pain he once experienced, followed by the stirring in his chest. There was no problem to recall the way his heart had swelled upon holding his first daughter; tears sprang to his eyes even now.

That was how Meggie found him. He was sitting in a window seat, gazing out at the coming storm, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. He hadn't even heard the door open to announce her arrival. It was only when she placed her hand over his that he was shaken from his reverie with a start.

"Dustfinger?" She spoke his name softly. "Are you all right?"

It took some amount of effort, but he forced a smile. "Just fine, Meggie," he told her, turning his hand under hers to squeeze.

She wasn't fooled for a moment, though. The girl sat beside him and pulled his hand over to her lap. "I don't believe you," she replied in her usual no-nonsense tone. "Your eyes are wet! What's wrong?"

This time, it didn't take any effort at all for him to smile. Meggie was such a sweet, little thing. From the start of their tribulations together, those seven years ago, he had always wanted to spare her the harsh aspects of the world. When he had first come into this story sixteen years past, it had pained him to see her for she reminded him of his two daughters who would never know why their father had left them. Then, when he had seen her again at the age of twelve, the pull toward he that he felt had been because of the love he held for her mother, and the pity he felt for the woman. Now, at the age of nineteen, she had blossomed into a lovely young woman. He never allowed himself the time to dwell on the reasons behind his attraction to her.

"Well?" She was also quite impatient.

Dustfinger raised an eyebrow at her. For the past seven years, he had been sharing a house with the Folcharts, as had Farid. Mo had been kind enough to forgive him for all the treachery after Capricorn's death. Dustfinger knew it was due in part to pity, since the bookbinder had never been able to read him back despite his best efforts. The entire family was entirely too softhearted for their own good sometimes. Regardless of the reasons, Dustfinger had been happy to have a place to call home whenever he grew tired of one journey and before he set out on another. For many years, he had come and gone as he pleased, showing up in the dead of night. It had been a pleasure of his to be in the kitchen when Meggie or Resa would appear, to see their startled faces melt into a smile as they offered him coffee.

Meggie. He had watched her grow up the last few years. During that time, despite their rocky beginning of a friendship, they had grown close. When she was younger, he would tell her what he could bear to remember of his home. He knew her mother always spared the darker details of that world. Despite his want to keep her safe, he had no trouble educating her on those facts. It wasn't like anyone was reading anything out of that book anymore, seeing as only he and Farid knew the location of the last copy.

As she had grown older and reached high school, he had often been her shoulder to cry on as friends came and went in her life, as boys broke her fragile little heart. He had always been willing to help her put the pieces back together. As she had shared her pain, no matter how trivial the cause, he had been able to comfort her and regale her with a story of his home to cheer her.

Often, she had referred to him as her best friend. It had warmed his heart to know that she totally confided in him all her secrets. But now it was apparently his turn, he thought, as she stared expectantly at him. Was he able to tell her of his pain? Even if she couldn't understand his homesickness, he knew she could relate to missing a loved one. Her mother had been absent from her life for nine years. He wasn't sure he could burden her with his heartache, though…

"It's nothing, truly, sweet one," he tried to convince her. Because of their bond, he knew she was unlikely to believe him, but maybe she would take the hint and drop it…

Meggie scrutinized him for a long while. Her eyes narrowed and her brows furrowed together as she tried to wear him down. He simply turned his gaze out the window as the first raindrops began to splatter on the glass, attempting to ignore her piercing stare.

Finally, she sighed. "All right," she began, "I'll let it go for now. But you'll tell me soon, I know it." Her voice was high and confident as she spoke.

A quiet chuckle escaped him. Then it occurred to him… "You weren't due back for another week," he commented offhandedly.

At the age of nineteen, Meggie was a second year student at the university with her main focus as writing. Despite her parents' obvious discomfort with it, she was pursuing a career as an author. She had the knack for it, definitely. After a whole summer of wearing them down, Mo and Resa had finally consented to her attending for writing, but only after a long lecture on the power of the written word. In the few weeks remaining before she had gone off to the university, the two had spent long days studying what they could of their peculiar talent. Mo wanted to see if only certain books could be brought it to life, or if anything read by the pair of them had the potential for something appearing. This research, Meggie had explained to Dustfinger, was because she would undoubtedly have to read aloud in her classes and didn't want anything coming to life there in the room.

After those long days, Meggie would often come to him in the evenings, looking anxious. When he would inquire to her anxiety, she would simply say she was nervous. Of course, Dustfinger was concerned for his friend. A part of his heart ached to see her so undone by the apprehension she felt. Because of this, he would allow her to tell him of her fears, every little thought and worry she had; often their talks would last well into the night, and she would fall asleep, mid sentence, in his arms. She told him of her nervousness of leaving home and living in the dorms, of the possibility of something she read coming to life and ruining her life forever. Once, when sleep had mostly claimed her, she had even admitted she was sad and nervous about leaving him. That had surprised him greatly.

Meggie shrugged slightly in response to his question. "I already passed my exams; this week was just going to be reviews and I've been doing so well they let me come home early for holiday." Whenever she had the chance, Meggie came home to visit, even if it was only a weekend here or there between breaks. The university was only a day's drive away, but she couldn't make it home as often as she liked, she always said. Seeking him out upon her returns seemed to be one of her first self-appointed tasks. There were always new stories for her to tell him, and she would often read to him the assignments from her classes. Each time she read, he always waited with bated breath for something, anything to appear, but it never did. She seemed to be mastering her talent, at least the aspect of not reading anything out of the papers.

For some reason, Dustfinger didn't quite believe her excuse for returning early, but let it slide for now. As she'd said to him, she would tell him eventually. Secretly, he was extremely happy she was home. A smile lit his face as he realized their hands were still together. At some point, she had twined her fingers between his. "Well I'm glad you're home," he told her softly.

Meggie returned his smile and squeezed his hand. There was a short silence between them, and only the rain could be heard on the windows, increasing in its fury as the storm raged closer. Finally, she asked, "Where are my parents and Farid? They'll probably want to see me," she trailed off, apparently embarrassed that she had failed to seek them out in her excitement of seeing him.

Dustfinger took a breath and kept his gaze on the window. "They've been gone this week on a holiday; they'll be back tomorrow or the next day. They'll be surprised to see you home so early." From the corner of his eye, Dustfinger saw it, the change in her demeanor if only for a moment. Yes, there was something on her mind, some reason she had come home early… It was especially strange she hadn't told him anything yet.

Meggie recovered quickly, apparently determined to not alert him of anything wrong. "Well at least I get a day or two with you to myself," she said happily, finally leaning in to hug him.

Deep breaths, Dustfinger told himself as he felt Meggie pressed against him. He held her for a moment, rubbing her hair and her back, enjoying the feeling of her so close to him but also teetering on a thin edge. He told himself that it was wrong that he felt the way he did toward her, that he found himself often wishing for more than just this friendship with her. On more than one occasion, he had tried to convince himself it was just her resemblance to her mother, for whom he had held a special kind of love. Each time she returned, though, and he saw her smile, he knew it was merely a lie to himself. It was always a task to keep his feelings in check, especially when she had fallen asleep in his bed, in his arms on so many occasions. Feeling as awkward as a schoolboy, he had spoken to her father about his predicament – after testing the waters of course to see how much he was against the subject of Meggie dating an older man. Of course, Silvertongue – for he could never be anything else to Dustfinger – had been a little shocked when Dustfinger had uneasily admitted his feelings for Meggie, had told Mo just how much he cared for her. Much to his surprise, however, the slightly older man had just shrugged.

"Nothing against you, old friend," he had said, "as much as I'd want her to choose someone who would have a steadier job than yours, I can't tell her who to love. I'm not going to encourage the relationship if there ever would be one, but I can see you do care for my daughter. Who am I to keep her from you?"

Those words had shocked Dustfinger to the core. He had expected the man to be irate and tell him to get the hell out of his house for even entertaining the idea of these feelings for his daughter. The fire-eater had even had his bags packed and ready to grab in his room. Mo had simply shrugged though, saying Meggie was old enough to choose who she wanted to be with…

When Meggie pulled away, she was still smiling. "I have some new stories to read for you," she announced. "But they can wait. I'm famished! What have you been eating this week while my parents have been gone?" As she spoke, she stood and started toward the kitchen. Meggie was acquainted with his lack of cooking skills in this world. Give him a spit and a fire, he could cook up a brace of rabbits with no trouble. He had never managed to master this stove though…

"Mostly sandwiches," he replied, following her. "Your parents left some tasty morsels in the icebox earlier in the week, but those are gone now." He had, at some point, figured out the microwave and the coffee maker. How he had survived without the coffee drink in his world, he didn't know, but he was extremely happy for it now.

Meggie was poking through the cupboards when he stepped in the doorway then leaned against it. "Well, there's got to be something I can whip together," she muttered as she searched. "Something simple, something easy… aha!" She reached for something at the top of the shelf then swore quietly when she realized she couldn't reach it.

Before she could say a word, Dustfinger was behind her, looking into the cupboard. "What is it you're wanting?" he asked her.

There was a brief pause in which he saw Meggie shiver. He pondered this for a moment but shrugged it off when she answered him at last. "That box of pasta up there, to the left…"

Dustfinger placed his right hand on the counter in front of her and leaned up and over Meggie to grab the box. His chest brushed her back and he felt her stiffen at the contact. Odd…

Wordlessly but with a smile, Meggie took the pasta from him. Dustfinger watched her as she went about cooking. From the other cupboard, she produced a jar of the sauce and put it and the pasta in water on the stovetop. While they waited for the water to boil and the sauce to heat, Meggie leaned against the counter across from him. When he caught her eyes, she smiled slightly but seemed to be far away. He knew the feeling. How far away he had been before she'd come home! His mind was suddenly back there, in his home world. Roxane's face, or what he could remember of it, was there in his head. He could barely recall all the details, but there was a faint memory of her baking bread in the kitchen of the small dwelling they'd wintered in, in Ombra. Her laughter pealed in his head as he said something particularly funny to her. A sad smile crossed his lips.

Before he knew it, Meggie had crossed the room to him. He only realized this when he felt her fingers trace the scars on one side of his face, just as Roxane had once done. A shiver went down his spine from her scrutinizing gaze.

"Where is it he goes in his head when that look crosses his face, I've always wondered," Meggie murmured, not really looking at him but still taking him in all the same. "Even when I was young, and you would have this far away expression, I wondered what you were thinking, what you were remembering, where you were. Only after I knew the truth about you did I realize you were probably home, thinking of everything you left behind…"

Shocked at her ability to read him so well, Dustfinger caught her gaze. "It seems you know me all too well, sweet one," he replied. There was no use denying it at this point, he knew. She had guessed correctly, and if he was to lie to her, not only would he feel guilty, but she would also know and he didn't want to risk hurting her feelings.

They were quiet for a moment as Meggie touched his face. Hesitantly, but unable to resist, Dustfinger put one arm around her waist and held her. She didn't object. "Do you remember her well?" she asked at length.

Again, Dustfinger was surprised at her assumption. In their years of friendship, he had rarely spoken of Roxane, maybe only two or three times at the most. Most of his tales had been of the Strolling Players as a whole. Meggie seemed to have been able to pick up on his devotion to his wife from another world, despite the time and inconceivable distance that separated them.

Finally, he shook his head. "Not particularly," he replied, allowing some of his sadness on his voice. "Her face isn't so clear anymore, and I can hardly remember the way her voice sounded, though I knew it was the most beautiful thing I'd ever heard."

Meggie tucked her head under his chest and wrapped her arms around him. Dustfinger flinched slightly, surprised. "I'm sorry. It must have been extremely difficult all those years ago." She didn't have to elaborate; they both knew what she meant. "I can't even imagine…"

"It still is," he admitted. "I miss her dearly. And everyone else." Never before had he spoken these words aloud to anyone, hardly even to himself. Again, he felt his eyes well with tears. He'd never dwelled too much on the fact that in his absence, so many of his friends and family could have died, even his Roxane. That struck him like a knife to the chest and his breath caught in his throat. Why he was suddenly allowing this now, with Meggie in his arms, he wasn't sure, but it just seemed all right to do, like she only had one purpose currently, and that was to comfort him in his sudden time of sorrow.

She made shushing sounds and rubbed his back. He half expected her to pull away from him as his first tear fell to her hair, to call him weak. She didn't, though. Silent tears slid down his cheeks as he let himself reminisce and accept what he had been denying himself all these years: life had more than likely moved on in his world, so why hadn't he? He was stuck on that tiny bit of hope that one day, he could go back and everything would be fine. Roxane would look at him like he'd just been gone for a few weeks, not sixteen years, his daughters wouldn't be angry at him for deserting them, even though it had been against his will. The Motley Folk would bring him back to their camp with open arms, excited at having their favorite fire-eater among their ranks again.

But it wasn't to be so, he knew. No one could read him back. It was time he fully accepted that he was stuck here in this world that moved too fast, was too noisy for him. He needed to move on with his excuse of a life just as everyone else had probably done…

Dustfinger didn't know how long they stood there like that, Meggie in his arms comforting him. He didn't weep the whole time, though; his face was already dry but his sorrow was still on his face. It was only when Meggie pulled back at arm's length did he realize the water on the stove was boiling. He was about to point it out but something on Meggie's face told him to wait. Their eyes caught. She was looking up at him with compassion and understanding for his loss. Her hand returned to his face; instead of caressing his scars she merely cupped his cheek. Before he knew what she was doing, she had stood up on tip toe and pressed her lips to his in a slight kiss.

So shocked was he that he didn't have time to respond before Meggie had pulled away and started toward the stove to strain the pasta. Dustfinger merely watched her as she went about mixing the sauce with the noodles. Occasionally, she looked over at him, smiling shyly. He was still in disbelief that she had actually kissed him!

Over dinner, Meggie read a few passages from her final project in her writing class. It was a short story about a made up world. Dustfinger recognized a lot of aspects in it from his own world; his heart ached for it still! She smiled at him as if she knew what he was thinking and placed her hand over his from time to time.

After they finished eating, they cleaned the small mess from dinner. The awkwardness of what had happened finally hit them. She had kissed him… Dustfinger looked at her intently, trying to decide if he had merely dreamed it after all. The blush on Meggie's face told him he hadn't, that she was thinking of it too. With a quick excuse of being exhausted from her drive, she quickly retreated upstairs to shower. Dustfinger went to his own room off the kitchen. It was a weatherproofed, screened porch. Blackout curtains outfitted the window panels and parts of the ceiling, but the area directly above his bed was left open to allow him a view of the stars. The storm was still going outside, so there was not much of a view as he lay in bed.

Over the last few years, he had worked to improve his reading. He understood now why Meggie and her father enjoyed books so much; it allowed an escape from his current world. His mind was so full of thoughts he didn't particularly wish to entertain any longer, so he pulled a volume from his small collection of stories and began to page through it.

This was how Meggie found him, almost two hours later. Dustfinger had always been a slow reader; even now, he still couldn't read as fast as Mo or even Farid, who had picked it up as fast as he had picked up fire-eating. He didn't notice her until she was only a foot or two away from his bed. When he looked up at her, a smile touched his face in an attempt to show he was all right and not too upset anymore. His brief escape into the book had calmed and distracted him enough.

It was only after looking at her a little harder that Dustfinger saw the faint lines of worry around her mouth. He scooted over in his bed, allowing her room to lie next to him, which she quickly did. Dustfinger put his book aside and slid one arm around her. "What's bothering you, Meggie?" he murmured into her hair as she snuggled close.

Meggie heaved a sigh. Apparently she realized she couldn't hide the fact any longer that something was truly on her mind. But what she said genuinely took him by surprise. "Would it bother you terribly if we didn't talk about it right now?" she whispered. Something akin to fear laced her voice as she spoke; that worried him more than her reluctance to talk about it.

After a moment of consideration, Dustfinger nodded. "But you'll tell me soon, won't you?" he asked.

He felt her nod against his chest. "Tomorrow," was all she said. Her hand pressed into his chest, and after a moment she shifted so she was leaning over him. A blush touched her cheeks and he knew what she was thinking. "So, about earlier…"

Dustfinger swallowed hard. He had enjoyed the kiss. Even if she hadn't really meant it, it was something he would hold onto for some time to come. In that moment, she had meant it, he knew, had felt something for him different from only a friend. But if she wanted to forget it, he was willing to not speak of it for her.

"If that bothered you, I-I'm sorry," Meggie stammered. Usually so eloquent, her beautiful voice stumbled over the words. "It's just…you seemed so upset and I just wanted you to know I cared…"

He smiled up at her and stroked her hair. "It didn't bother me, sweet one," he murmured and gently tangled his fingers in her hair.

She looked surprised at his words, almost as surprised as he had felt earlier. "It didn't?"

"Not at all." Dustfinger paused, contemplating. "In fact, if you don't mind me saying, I did rather enjoy it."

Silence fell between them. Their eyes caught and held each other's gazes for a long time. Meggie seemed to be processing his words. Dustfinger challenged her to do something about it. He wouldn't apologize for his words. Suddenly, he wanted her to know about his feelings; even in so few words earlier, they had shared so much, why not this?

When Meggie didn't seem to be capable of moving, Dustfinger, with his fingers still tangled in her hair, gently pulled her closer to him. She didn't resist as he leaned his head up to meet hers, pressing his lips to hers. In fact, that seemed to spur motion in her at last. Her hand cupped his cheek as she returned the kiss. Her lips moved against his with a skill he didn't quite imagine her to possess. He would have been kidding himself to think she had never kissed anyone, seeing as she and Farid had dated for a short time. He just didn't expect the level of her affection.

Dustfinger traced the line of her lips with his tongue after a moment. His desire took the seat of control as his other arm wound around her waist, pulling her body against his. After a moment of her hesitance, he extricated his hand from her hair and touched her face. He dragged his thumb along her bottom lip to open her mouth. Slowly, he invaded the new territory, tasting her sweetness as his tongue danced with hers. He explored her mouth, kissing her till he felt drunk off the affection. It was only when the urge to breathe overcame him that they ended the kiss. There was a look in Meggie's eyes as she gazed down on him. He knew that expression, had seen it before but on another woman. It was the look of wanting more.

Quickly, Dustfinger flipped them so he was leaning over her. It had been so long since he had kissed anyone; somewhere around seven years or so, and the last person he had kissed was her mother. Dustfinger didn't dwell on that as he captured Meggie's mouth again. He leaned his weight onto one hand as he felt Meggie's hands against his chest. With his other hand, he touched her face, stroked her hair, caressed her throat. Her pulse raced beneath his hand. His fingers shook as he traced a pattern on her neck.

When Meggie took his hand and placed it over her breast, he gasped into the kiss. He pulled away and looked down at her, shocked. As much as his desire told him to run with it, to go with the unspoken permission, he had to make sure…

Without a word, Meggie leaned up again to kiss him; at the same time, she used his hand to massage her breast through her thin t-shirt. She moaned as he continued to do so without her aid. Encouraged by her response, Dustfinger broke the kiss to explore her neck. He used his lips, teeth, and tongue to taste every inch of skin bore to him. He nibbled her earlobe, sucked every so slightly at the pulse point in her neck, grazed the hollow of her neck and shoulder. That last action brought the most response from her. Meggie moaned and arched her back into him as he kissed and sucked that spot.

At some point, he couldn't recall when, Meggie had worked her shirt up just enough that her stomach and the under side of her breast was exposed. When Dustfinger realized this, he knew what she wanted. With only a slight hesitance, he obliged, but not before exploring this new skin. He started at her waistband with pressing kisses against her silken skin. At the indent of her hipbones, he used his tongue; Meggie's fingers tangled in his hair so he took that as a good sign. Slowly, very slowly, he kissed his way up to her breasts, which he had been kneading with one hand. Finally, he found himself in the valley between her breasts and he pressed a whisper of a kiss there then trailed his lips around them. Dustfinger heard Meggie whisper his name as he continued his exploration. He attempted to put his shyness in the back of his mind as he took one nipple into his mouth. Some of this was actually new to him; he'd only read about many sexual things in the books he'd borrowed from Resa, then returned them with a boyish blush. However, Meggie didn't seem to mind his hesitance as he worked his mouth over her breasts. If her hitched breath meant anything, she was rather enjoying his ministrations.

It was only a few minutes later that he felt Meggie's hand at the waistband of his jeans, working at the buttons. His eyes flew open and he looked down at her with surprise on his face. Dustfinger hadn't really thought about where this all was going, but he hadn't really expected her to go _there_. He swallowed before he spoke. "Are you sure about this?" His voice was hoarse. It had been so long since anyone had touched him like she was about to; he didn't want to disappoint her at all.

Meggie merely nodded, her eyes dark with the same desire that had overcome him. "I've never been surer about anything else, Dustfinger," she whispered. "To be honest, it's something I've wanted for a long time."

Her admission startled him, but he had felt the same way too. So with a nod, he allowed her to undo the snaps of his jeans. Cool air rushed against him and he sucked in a breath through his teeth at the change in sensation. He rolled his eyes back in his head as he felt Meggie's hands there. It took all he had not to moan as her hands massaged his member.

Dustfinger had never thought of Meggie as educated in anything sexual, had always envisioned her as the picture of innocence. Because of that, there had been only a few things he had tailored in his stories to her. Now, he wondered why. Her fingers caressed and teased him with skill. Eventually, he did moan; Meggie captured that with a kiss, once again getting him drunk on her sweetness.

After what seemed a blissful eternity, he had to pull her hand away; he didn't know how long he could last like that, didn't know how he had lasted as long as he had already. Meggie broke the kiss with a dismayed expression on her face. Dustfinger merely smiled at her and shook his head. "It's, ah, been a long time," he told her and she immediately understood.

Dustfinger kissed her again. His mouth worked against hers for some time. He felt Meggie's fingers working at the buttons of his shirt; he shrugged out of it when she began to push it off his shoulders. After that, she pulled him down against her so his bare flesh touched hers. Her skin was hot against his. He enjoyed the feeling and memorized the feel of her body.

Within a few minutes and some careful shifting, Meggie had wriggled out of her shirt and pajama pants; they were unceremoniously discarded on his floor somewhere. Her hands were working at pushing his jeans down his hips when Dustfinger forced himself to stop kissing her neck once more. As much as it killed him to stop and think, he had to be sure…

"Meggie," he murmured to her, touching her face. "Are you certain? I don't want you to wake up with regret in the morning." Never mind that he would feel regret in the morning if she decided he wasn't what she wanted, but he would survive; he was used to heartache.

With a jerk of her head, Meggie looked at him with clear eyes. "I'm certain. Like I said, I've wanted this for a long time, Dustfinger. Please…" There was a hint of desperation in her voice as she uttered that last word…

She didn't give him time to dwell on it. Before he knew it, she had pushed his jeans down his hips; he worked them down his legs and finally kicked them off to the floor. Meggie pulled his naked body against hers and she sighed contentedly. Dustfinger squeezed his eyes shut, praying that Meggie really was sure and wasn't just caught in the moment. His thoughts were cut off, however, and his eyes flew open when he felt her hands on his nether region again. A breath caught in his throat and he knew it had to be done now or never.

His hand searched for her warmth. Dustfinger, with his heard pounding in his chest, pushed Meggie's fingers away and guided himself toward her. In a moment, he had pushed into her. Then his eyes widened with shock as he realized…

"Meggie?"

Tears had sprung to her eyes and her jaw was tight with pain. Dustfinger rained kisses down on her face. He had assumed from her previous ministrations that she'd already achieved this rite of passage, but apparently he had been wrong.

"Meggie, are you all right?" he asked after another moment. He caressed her face, wiping away tears that streamed from her eyes.

She nodded and gave him a smile. "Yes, I'm fine," she told him. "It just stung at first, but it's fine now."

Dustfinger paused then nodded. Finally, he felt how extremely warm she was around him. He groaned as she moved beneath him, shifting her hips. It took a Herculean effort to hold on, and he focused on breathing for the next few moments to keep his control. When he felt he could do something to make this experience pleasurable, he looked up at Meggie. She was smiling, waiting patiently for him. The last vestiges of pain were around her eyes, but he believed her when she said she was fine. He knew the first time was painful for women, and he regretted not asking, but it was too late now.

He started up a steady pace, gently thrusting. Meggie's nails raked down his back as he moved in and out of her. Acting on a whim, he kissed the curve of her neck and shoulder, grazing his teeth there. He felt Meggie tighten around him and heard her cry out. He almost lost himself in the feeling but managed to hold on and continued his affections in that spot. Meggie's breathing became more labored and she whimpered in a way that made his heart catch. Slowly, because he knew he couldn't maintain this for much longer, Dustfinger worked his hands over her body, her breasts, her waist, stomach, the curve of her hips, and finally, he searched down where they were joined. He knew he'd found the right spot when Meggie cried out again, her nails raking down his back roughly. She threw her head back into his pillows as he continued to rub his thumb over her little button. It didn't take long before he felt her fall over the edge. Her entire body trembled and he felt the fluttering around him. Her ecstasy pulled him tumbling with her and he gasped into her hair.

Trembles set into both of them as the waves of pleasure finally left them. Meggie was breathing heavily under him, her arms still around his torso. Dustfinger moved both arms up above her shoulders to lean on them and look down at her. Her hair was sticking to her face with sweat; he was sure his was the same way. Exhaustion was etched into her face and Dustfinger realized her guard was totally down. He had just begun to read her when her eyes opened just slightly and she smiled sleepily.

Dustfinger returned the smile slowly. Something was definitely wrong and he wanted to know what it was.

However, she had promised to tell him tomorrow, and he didn't want to ruin this moment for her, so Dustfinger lay down on his side and pulled her into his chest, cradling her in his arms. Meggie kept her arms around him and buried her face into his shoulder. He could feel her blush just slightly against his already heated skin. Lightly, he kissed her hair.

"Are you all right, sweet one?" he murmured, his voice heavy. Gently, Dustfinger stroked her back.

It took her a moment, but Meggie nodded. "Yeah," she said at length. Then she shivered. Whether from the cold or something in her mind, Dustfinger didn't know, but with reluctance he pulled away from her and began to pull the blankets up over them.

They stayed there in silence for some time, arms around each other. Dustfinger occasionally pressed kisses into her hair; Meggie would kiss his chest from time to time. Eventually, he felt her body become heavy and heard her breathing become deeper as she drifted into slumber. Dustfinger smiled as she snored ever so slightly into his chest.

Outside, the storm was still raging, louder than ever. It amazed him that Meggie could sleep through it. She probably really was as tired as she had said earlier, even more so now after their activity. Dustfinger smiled and rubbed her back lightly, just a simple stroking of his fingertips against her skin.

He waited for some feeling other than contentment to steal over him. He waited for there to be guilt for betraying the woman he loved still, to this day. Dustfinger half expected his homesickness to return to him, slamming into him like a battering ram.

But none of those feelings ever came. It was with a smile that he drifted off with Meggie in his arms, and a feeling of happiness finally wrapped itself around him for the first time in sixteen years.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: Okay so wow. The reviews (positive ones) I got did inspire me to write some more in this. So, thank you, readers. I hope I don't disappoint you. And to you, my one negative reviewer, I sort of hope you had this followed, just to try to cuss me out more. My advice to you? Don't be a donut. If you don't want to read Meggie/Dustfinger, don't f*cking look in the "M" section under this pairing, and stop minging up people's review boards. Tosser.**

**With that noted, please be advised that this is still a rated M story, i.e. there is sex between Dustfinger and Meggie. If you're currently reading this, you've realized that already. If you don't like it, if the age gap squicks you out, then don't read it. Duh.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Inkheart, or the characters. No monetary gain is had in the writing of this.**

_Laughter echoed down the hallways, signalling the end of the term at last. Meggie slung her bag over her shoulder and stepped out of her dorm, locking the door on her way out. A few people tapped her shoulder, saying goodbye for the holiday as they passed. Meggie called out to them as she went her own way up the hall. A few other people gestured to her with smiles. She'd made a lot of new friends this term._

_As she continued to walk up the hall, the students' laughter followed her. The sound reverberated off the walls, echoing louder and louder around her. The sound filled her ears, the laughter eventually distorting into something akin to cries._

_Meggie took a few more steps down the hallway before she felt a cold tingle down her neck. She paused in her stride, noticing she was alone suddenly. She glanced over her shoulder to see if anyone was behind her. The hallway appeared to be empty._

_After taking a deep breath, Meggie strode purposefully down the hall a little further. She had made it about ten paces before she heard the faintest trace of a whisper._

_"Meggie."_

_Quickly, she turned her head again, looking all around her. All of the doors were closed, locked tight for the end of the term. There was no one._

_Still, the feeling of being watched was strong. Meggie attempted to push the feeling aside, continuing down the hallway. The whisper sounded again, this time right in her ear. She started, jumping to one side. Her arm brushed something cold, making her cry out._

_"Who's there?" she asked the empty hallway. She waited a few more moments before repeating her question, louder this time._

_She had just breathed a sigh of relief, satisfied that she was just imagining it, when she felt the hand clamp around her mouth, pulling her back into the room behind her._

_"I told you not to run."_

Meggie woke with a startled cry. She sat up on her elbows, looking around in a panic. Where was she? Dappled sunlight fell over her naked body, light and shadow mingling over her pale skin.

It was only when Dustfinger appeared in the doorway, a puzzled expression on his face, that she recalled where she was.

Home. She was home. She was in Dustfinger's room. She was in Dustfinger's...bed.

Meggie felt the hot blush staining her cheeks and she slowly pulled the sheet up her body, covering herself.

"Are you all right, Meggie?" Dustfinger asked, stepping into the room. He approached the bed like he would an animal, possibly a dangerous one. "I heard you cry out."

It took her a moment to remember why she had cried out, but it suddenly came rushing back to her. She shuddered, but shook her head. "I'm fine, Dustfinger," she lied, not meeting his gaze. "I...just had a bad dream is all." She looked up at him this time. This was the truth, at least. Still, she could feel her guilt around her eyes, so she blinked.

A few moments passed before Dustfinger sat on the edge of the bed. He was clad in jeans and a t-shirt, feet bare. A cup of coffee was in one hand; the other reached out to her hesitantly before drawing back. When Meggie looked at him, she saw the hurt in his eyes; her guilt magnified. He knew she was lying.

"There's coffee in the kitchen if you'd like some," Dustfinger said at length, reaching out to take her hand. His voice was kind. Gone from his face was the hurt; in its place was his easy demeanor. Meggie wondered how he did that, hid his feelings so well.

_Practice_, she told herself.

"Thanks," she replied, smiling at him. "I'll be out in a minute. I just...need to get dressed." Her expression turned sheepish as she remembered her naked state.

A small blush crossed Dustfinger's face as he averted his eyes. "Right. I'll just..." he gestured vaguely to the door then made his exit.

Meggie flopped back onto the bed. She worked to push away her nightmare, not wanting to think about it, about _him_. Instead, she thought about the previous night. Her face burned. Not from embarrassment or shame, but only as a reaction to the thoughts. Dustfinger moving over her, his hands all over her body, his lips whispering her name, his gasp as he came.

Slowly, she crawled out of the bed - it was a double bed, hardly big enough for two adults. While she'd heard some stories at university of making it work in a twin bed, Meggie imagined it wasn't all that comfortable. As she pulled on her pajama bottoms, she had an odd feeling pulling on her clothes from the previous day. With a quick glance around the room, she found one of Dustfinger's shirts lying on top of a chair. She snatched it up and exited the room, her shirt balled up in her hands.

In the kitchen, there was the promised coffee. Meggie filled up a mug and sat. Images from her nightmare flooded her head again; she pushed them away.

A few minutes passed before Dustfinger appeared once more, clicking off the phone. He gave Meggie a once over before clearing his throat. She suppressed a grin, figuring the sight of her in one of his shirts was affecting him.

"That was your parents," he announced, leaning on the counter a safe distance away from her.

Meggie just nodded, sipping her coffee.

"They'll be home tomorrow afternoon sometime; the storm held them up, apparently." Dustfinger seemed to be looking anywhere but her.

With another nod, Meggie stood from the table and began to rummage for breakfast. "They're all right, though, yes?" she asked as she opened the fridge. Maybe eggs...

Dustfinger made a noise of affirmation. "Yes, your father said they stopped in time to miss the worst of it."

"Good. Have you eaten?" She cast a glance over her shoulder to the older man. He was still studiously avoiding looking at her.

"Not yet," he answered quietly, sipping his coffee.

Meggie set the eggs next to the stove and went for a pan which just so happened to be in the cupboard beside Dustfinger. She stopped in front of him, fixing her gaze on him. "Hey," she said quietly, stepping closer into his space. "Dustfinger." He still wouldn't look at her. "Dustfinger, please." Dread set in; did he regret last night? Was he going to leave for her entire holiday to avoid the awkwardness?

Slowly, she reached out, touching his arm. When he didn't flinch - or make any move whatsoever - Meggie wrapped her fingers around his bicep, squeezing. "Look at me, please, Dustfinger," she whispered, tilting her head to try to meet his eyes.

It took a little more coaxing but Dustfinger finally met her gaze. There was a hint of guilt in his eyes which he masked quickly.

"About last night," Meggie began, trailing her hand down to his, "you're not...you're not upset, are you?" She forced the words out of her mouth, almost unwilling to hear the answer. She had to, though.

There was a long pause in which they just looked at each other before Dustfinger finally shook his head. "No," he answered at last. "No, I'm not upset."

Meggie breathed a sigh of relief, smiling a little. "Then what's wrong?" she asked, leaning in a little closer.

Dustfinger turned his gaze away once more, an expert at avoiding situations - unless it was Meggie. Then he was hopeless. Meggie knew this, and she had a tendency to take advantage of it. He let out a small breath before shutting his eyes. "I was just concerned you would regret it," he offered, still not meeting her eyes.

He was lying. At least, he wasn't telling the whole truth. Meggie dropped his hand and took a step away. "Of course not," she replied easily, smiling at him. "I told you, it was something I'd thought about for a very long time." Still, she frowned slightly as she reached for a frying pan. Granted, she was keeping something from him, but she intended to tell him. After breakfast. Meggie had no idea when or if Dustfinger would ever tell her what was on his mind currently.

There was silence as Meggie went about preparing her omelette. It was only when she was watching the changing consistency that she felt Dustfinger's arms slip around her waist. She let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding and leant back against his chest. Dustfinger pressed his face into her hair, breathing deeply. Meggie smiled.

"I'm sorry," Dustfinger said softly after a few moments.

Meggie carefully flipped the omelette into a tri-fold. "About what?" she asked, slightly absent minded.

"I didn't know I was your first." His voice was quiet, barely audible even so close to her ear. "I would have done something to make it easier on you."

She paused in her actions for a moment before flipping the omelette over. "Oh," she said softly. "Well." She cleared her throat. "I've...heard it always hurts the first time, no matter what." It was Meggie's turn to be quiet now.

Wordlessly, she slid her omelette onto a plate. "Do you want one?" she asked, turning her head to glance at Dustfinger. She felt rather than heard him nod his head.

"Sure."

Silence, but a comfortable one, settled between them as Meggie prepared a second omelette. Dustfinger fed her bites of hers rather than let it go cold. Within a few more minutes, they were both seated at the table, laughing as Meggie recalled a few stories from university for Dustfinger.

"And then she looked up at him and asked, 'But why do the ponies have to be aquamarine?'" Meggie managed over a bout of laughter.

Dustfinger chuckled. "In her sleep?" he asked.

Meggie nodded. "In her sleep!" she confirmed.

"Must have been some dream," he commented, grinning.

Meggie, who had stood to gather their plates, stiffened for a moment. She quickly recovered, flashing a smile at Dustfinger, and placed their plates in the sink. When she sat down again, Dustfinger had a steely expression on his face. Meggie sighed, resigned.

"What's wrong?" he asked, determination to find out in his voice.

Meggie looked down at the table, pushing a few crumbs around the surface. Then she reached for the carafe of juice in the center of the table and refilled her glass. Beads of condensation dripped onto the table.

"I had a nightmare," she answered, starting with the easiest bit first.

Dustfinger was silent for a few moments before pressing for more details. "About...?" Nightmares were nothing new to them; Dustfinger had them multiple times a week. He dreamt of Capricorn, of Basta's knife, and many other horrible things. He knew Meggie also had them from time to time, less frequent as the years increased between Capricorn's ordeal and now.

Meggie frowned more. "So I met this guy at uni," she began, pausing as she heard Dustfinger's very quiet but still sharp intake of breath. "Trevor. Very nice, opened doors for me, all that. We kind of dated for a few weeks near the end of term. But we broke up." She paused, continuing to trail her fingers through the condensation on the table.

When a few moments of silence passed between them, Dustfinger urged her to continue. "Why did you break up?" he asked.

Stalling, Meggie shrugged. "He...got pushy about certain things," she told him. "I didn't want to do certain things with him, he wanted to do things with me." This time, she looked up when she heard Dustfinger's breath catch. "I told him no, he broke up with me." Absently, Meggie rubbed her cheek, feeling the sting of his slap again. "I was all right with that because term was almost over, and we were starting exams." She paused again, placing both hands in her lap.

"So, it's about three weeks before I come home and I start getting these phone calls on my mobile. It's a number I don't recognize. Whenever I answered, there would be nothing and then a click as it disconnected." Meggie looked up at Dustfinger to gauge his reaction. His face was a little red in annoyance; he already knew where this was going. With another shrug, Meggie continued, "After a few days of that, he started announcing himself as the caller. I tried to talk to him the first few times, remind him that he broke up with me, why we broke up in the first place. He wouldn't listen. Eventually I started just hanging up on him or ignoring the calls altogether. One day I saw him following me home."

Dustfinger reached out and took her hand. He remained silent.

"I ignored him at first until I started seeing him everywhere I went. He waited for me outside of class, places I went with my friends; he even showed up outside of my dorm multiple occasions." Meggie paused, taking a deep breath. "I was scared. I was more than scared. What I felt was close to all those years ago, Dustfinger, when we were running from Capricorn." She shuddered at the memory. "I started taking friends with me everywhere I went. I was afraid to be by myself anywhere.

"Finally, just a few days ago, I was packing up my things in my dorm. My friend Janie had gone down the hall for drinks, was only going to be gone a few minutes. But Trevor showed up. He pushed my into my dorm and started to kiss me." Meggie shuddered, reliving the moment. "I tried to fight him off, but he was so much stronger. He pushed me on the couch and his hands were all over me."

Dustfinger squeezed her hand, bringing her out of the memory for a moment. "Meggie." His voice was firm, an anchor to now.

Still, Meggie was pulled back under into her memories. "I thought it was too late when Janie appeared with something and hit him with it. It's a bit foggy what happened after that, but he left and Janie took me to campus police." She paused, finally looking up at Dustfinger again. "That's why they sent me home early, Dustfinger."

He didn't say a word. He just pulled her into his arms, resting her head on his chest.

Meggie felt her body tense up at first, the initial feeling of being pulled against him a little startling. As she relaxed, she felt her eyes well with tears. Quiet sobs wracked her body as she nestled into Dustfinger's arms, pressing her face against his neck.

"I was so scared, Dustfinger," she cried, fingers clenching in his shirt. "So scared. I still am."

Dustfinger was making soothing noises as he caressed her back, fingers running up and down slowly. "It's all right, sweet one," he murmured to her, lips pressing into her hair. "You're safe now. Nothing and no one can hurt you while I'm around."

That night, they slept in Meggie's bigger, queen sized bed. Dustfinger felt slightly awkward as he slid under the blankets. His tension melted away only slightly as he felt Meggie curl up beside him, head nestled beneath his chin. Hesitantly, he slipped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer. It was an odd feeling to crave the proximity of another, the need for them to be close almost overwhelming.

Dustfinger let out a slow breath, relaxing to the sound of Meggie's soft breathing, the feeling of her hand on his chest. He tipped his head forward to press a kiss to her hair, thinking she was already asleep. When he lay his head back down, Meggie turned her face to look at him, a small smile on her lips.

Her look turned slightly hesitant as she said, "If...if this is too weird for you," she paused, "you don't have to stay up here, if you don't want to." She turned her eyes down, apparently slightly embarrassed. Or frightened.

Gently, Dustfinger lifted her chin, bringing her gaze to his. "Nonsense," he said firmly. "I'm happy to be here, keeping you safe." He pressed his lips against hers. That was still something to adjust to. Meggie seemed to want something with him; she hadn't refused any of his small advances and had also initiated some of her own throughout the day.

Meggie smiled up at him. "Thank you," she murmured, shifting closer. "I mean it." She kissed him again.

When Meggie pulled away from the kiss, their eyes met; Dustfinger felt the air between them begin to sizzle. Slowly, he leaned forward, meeting Meggie's lips again. No time was wasted before their lips parted and tongues battled for dominance. He heard Meggie whimper slightly as his fingers pressed into her back, pulling her closer against him until she was practically laying atop him. His other hand tangled into her hair, nails scraping her scalp. Meggie's hands were trailing up and down his sides, alternating between light touches and firm caresses.

As they broke for air, they also broke to remove clothing. There was no jesting to convince themselves or each other they didn't want this. Meggie pulled off her nightshirt and underclothes, tossing them aside. Dustfinger slid out of his bottoms then pulled her on top of him again. He groaned at the feeling of her skin on his.

He was hard. He'd been slightly aroused most of the day, between his own thoughts and Meggie's stolen glances and kisses. Now, though, he was achingly hard and he needed her. He broke away from the kiss, starting to flip them over when Meggie shook her head.

"Let me," she offered shyly, cheeks aflame.

Dustfinger just nodded, struck mute as he watched her shift until she was straddling his hips. Her breasts, small but pert, bounced slightly as she moved. As her hand closed around his near painfully hard member, he moaned, unable to hold back the sound. She worked her hand up and down him for a few moments before she was moving again, lifting herself over him. As he felt her warmth over his tip, he tensed in anticipation. They moaned simultaneously as she slid onto him until he was fully sheathed within her.

Meggie began to move over him, rocking her hips back and forth slowly. The movement was awkward, unpracticed. Dustfinger found it endearing and arousing at the same time. His hands went to her hips, guiding her movements gently until she found a rhythm that suited them both. Dustfinger choked on a groan when she began to speed up. He could tell by the sounds she was making that she was near her climax. The soft, quiet cries she made brought him closer to the edge; the knowledge that he was the reason behind her pleasure caused his arousal to skyrocket.

When Meggie came, Dustfinger had to catch her before she fell forward onto him. Shudders wracked her body as she rode out her pleasure. He chuckled as she finally fell limp against him.

Carefully, he flipped them, staying inside her as he moved. Dustfinger pressed one hand onto the pillow beneath her head, shifting for the right angle. He bent his head to press his lips to hers, enjoying the way she clung to him, the way she mewled his name.

As he began to move, slowly thrusting in and out of her, Dustfinger strove for his climax. It didn't take long, what with Meggie's soft gasps in his ear or her fingers raking down his back. He came with a grunt, her name quickly following. Stars flashed before his eyes for a moment before he laid to one side, avoiding crushing Meggie.

He was breathing heavily, as was she. Dustfinger brushed his fingers through Meggie's hair idly as she cuddled against his chest. She was tracing patterns on his chest. The motion, combined with the post-coital exhaustion, was enough to lull him just to the edge of sleep. He felt Meggie dropping off, too, as her patterns became slower on his skin. He felt sleep claiming him at last when she said it.

"I love you."


End file.
